


The Truth?

by sasswolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-13 09:14:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/822595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasswolf/pseuds/sasswolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter how hard Stiles tries to hide his feelings, Derek can always tell.</p><p>Writing for this is currently on hold. Sorry!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Truth?

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I have no idea where this is going. I just started typing this up while trying to go to sleep at a con. Stiles always uses humor to cope, and I think that adding a werewolf's ability to smell emotions to that would make a pretty interesting plot point.
> 
> Title is definitely subject to change.

It was a typical, albeit boring, Thursday night at the Stilinski household. Sheriff Stilinski was working a late shift (something that he seemed to do more and more frequently these days) while Stiles, poor under-appreciated, bored out of his mind Stiles, sat in his bedroom occupying himself with tasks that he deemed to be of extreme importance. That is, anything that he could do that wasn't homework.

"Jesus..." he sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. Presently, he was lying on his bed, having just tossed aside a Home and Garden magazine that he had been using to draw silly faces on a handful of furniture and assorted house plants. He looked over to the looming pile of paper and books on his desk. Just the sight of it made his head ache. "I swear to god, all these dangerous night-time werewolf excursions are going to be the death of me. Or my high school career." he said, sighing again and flopping face-first onto his pillow. He was exhausted, having spent the night before running (flailing) through the woods with Scott and Derek's pack trying to chase who knows what to who knows where. The whole situation was rather unclear to Stiles (some supernatural creature that was reeking havoc around Beacon Hills needed to be stopped), but that wasn't anything new. At this point he just sort of went along with it. He likes to place the blame on Scott because, well, if it wasn't for Scott dragging him into everything all of the time, he'd live a completely normal life, right? Right.

Okay, maybe not right. Maybe he does ask for it. Maybe he does insist on coming along, even when Derek (and sometimes even Scott) tells him that he shouldn't. What good is a human in comparison to a pack of werewolves anyway? But hey, anything to break the monotony of this boring life of a incredibly handsome, yet miraculously unpopular, high school boy. Really, it's a mystery why he isn't loved by everyone. Perhaps they're intimidated by his charming good looks? Or his flawless sense of humor? Whatever. Their loss.

Stiles now finds himself in a predicament. With his magazine now disposed of, what could he possibly do to pass the time (and by pass the time, he means avoids every and all responsibility)? No one is responding to his texts. Scott is busy sneaking around with Allison and he's pretty sure that everyone else in the pack hates him to at least some degree. Now that he thinks about it, that's a pretty depressing thought. Wow. Just the mood change he needed.

Hit sits there in silence with his face in his pillow, internally contemplating how long it would take him to smother himself and whether or not asphyxiation could get him excused from his homework. "Tche, I'll probably still be asked to do a detailed report on the chemical breakdown of my own corpse for Chem." he thinks. "Maybe I should ask Scott to be my lab partner. He could certainly use the extra credit."

Suddenly, he feels a breeze from his window. That's funny. Stiles is pretty sure that he shut and locked it on the off-chance that any of the various murderous supernatural creatures that they've dealt with recently would feel the need to pay him a visit. He lifts up his head heavily. There wasn't any need to look. He really doesn't want to deal with this right now.

"Hello Derek." he says, trying to give off his best aura of annoyance specifically for Derek to sniff. His resolve falters considerably under the alpha's glare, however, and he quickly gives up to grinning stupidly and sitting upright. "How may I help you on this fine evening?"

"Fine isn't the word that I would use to describe it." Derek scowls. "Do you even know why your dad is out, dumbass?" That's what he gets for trying to be friendly? A contemptuous tone and name calling? It's kind of hurtful, perhaps because he's feeling particularly sensitive after imagining how to kill himself with a pillow.

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the kennel." Now he remembers why he's never nice to Derek. "You know he refuses to tell me anything!"

"That's never stopped you from finding out before." the alpha retorts. "But we don't have time to argue. Especially since I now have to give you a full rundown on what's happening. Now if you'll just-"

"Well excuuuuuuusseee me!" Okay, he's definitely feeling a little more sensitive than he thought. Is this was PMS feels like? "The last time he clammed up, it took almost a full bottle of Jack to get anything out of him! Then afterwards he had to get all mopey and "I miss your mother"-y on me. No thanks!" He didn't mean to mention that last part. Whoops.

For a second, Stiles thinks that Derek's expression shifts. Like his mouth opens, and his eyes turn sad. It's gone in a flash, however, and he's still left facing the werewolf's well-worn scowl. So he writes it off as being his imagination. Of course it is. He's pretty positive that Derek doesn't even have the muscle function in his face to do anything else but look chronically disgruntled.

It's sort of upsetting. He kind of wishes that Derek would care.

"Just grab your keys and let's get going." Derek says sternly. Sternly. Stiles is pretty sure that that word could describe about 60% of the man's behavior. "I'll tell you everything on the way there."

"All right, all right." The teenager begrudgingly stands up off his bed and crosses the room to dig around in the pocket of one of his favorite hoodies. "Could you maybe tell me where it is that we're going? That seems like a good way to start off."

"The preserve. Bring a flashlight, you'll probably need it." Was that a jab at his human-ness? Knowing Derek, most likely. "And maybe a weapon as well." Stiles freezes as he reaches into his drawer for the flashlight.

"Really? You never ask me to fight. I usually leave that up to you furry brutes." he says.

"Self-defense. But let's hope it doesn't come to that." Though he meant it, his words aren't particularly reassuring to Stiles.

"Hooold on! I have 3 Chemistry assignments, an English paper, and at least 300 chapters of history to read by tomorrow. If I end up getting maimed or-or-" he stops for a moment to think. _"Actually, that sounds a bit more masculine than death by pillow..."_ he thinks to himself. He just waves his hand to Derek and sighs, trying to give off the impression that he's just stopped caring and trying not to think about his incredibly morbid thoughts of the past half-hour. As he turns around to head out of his bedroom door, he catches Derek's face out of the corner of his eye. It's sad again. Though, like before, it's gone before Stiles can fully comprehend it.


End file.
